


until your knees hurt

by nanamilks



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Blasphemy, Blow Jobs, Bottom Lee Minho | Lee Know, Choking, Church Sex, Churches & Cathedrals, Clothed Sex, Confessional Sex, Corruption, Dacryphilia, Dom Bang Chan, Established Relationship, Facials, Light Masochism, Lingerie, M/M, Painplay, Religion Kink, Roleplay, Semi-Public Sex, Spanking, Top Bang Chan, catholic inaccuracies because author is a whole atheist, i don't think ao3 and i mean the same thing by confessional sex but i'll take it, minho is a kinky bitch, they have sex in a confessional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29795379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanamilks/pseuds/nanamilks
Summary: "Do you think you deserve forgiveness?"Minho shakes his head, a sharp noise leaving him when Chan's grip in his hair tightens, pulling his head back so that his chin tips upward. Minho keeps his gaze on him anyhow. "No, father. I don't think I do.""And why is that?"Minho's catlike smirk returns, flashing his teeth. "I'm a filthy, nasty little whore, father. I just can't help myself."(or: minho is not the saint he pretends to be.)
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 11
Kudos: 224





	until your knees hurt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [screamingskz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamingskz/gifts).



> happy birthday to my little pixie!! 
> 
> i love you so much and i hope that this sets your big day off to a good start ♡ thank you so much for being born and being my best friend. cheers~

Minho pulls the ring of keys from his coat pocket and checks over both shoulders before he wields the largest key, brass and heavy, to unlock the doors. He slips inside, quietly pressing one of the oak doors closed. He leaves it unlocked.

The church echoes louder in the dead of night like this, floorboards creaking beneath the soles of Minho's boots as he walks the aisle between the pews. The moonlight pouring through the stained glass isn't enough to light the way, so he uses the flashlight of his phone to guide him through the dark, and stops before he reaches the altar. He looks up at the big, wooden cross that hangs on the anterior wall and then the statue of Mary that sits before it. Minho gives her the _what's up_ nod before he heads to his right, sights set on the confessional booth.

He hasn't been in one of these since he was a teenager, always forced by his mother's hand dragging him by the ear or by the acrid, malevolent words of his father when they found out what kind of boy he really was. Oh, the punishment the preacher's son faces when his stash of nude magazines is found beneath his bed, when he comes home past curfew with a limp in his step, when he's caught kissing boys behind his preparatory school. He's done a good job of convincing them that he's been saved by prayer. He is used to being on his knees, despite how little he prays.

Minho slips into the booth and pulls the velvet curtain closed, kneeling down and tucking his phone into his pocket. A shaking breath breezes between his lips not because he is nervous, or afraid, or unsure — he is so eager that he can barely contain himself. He crosses himself with a smirk on his lips.

From his other pocket he pulls out his spurned rosary, wrapping the chain around his hands before he clasps them together, leaning his forehead against them. He lets his eyelids flutter closed, and waits. Listens to the silent night around him. Minutes pass before one of the double doors slowly creaks open. He hears it lock.

His eyes open as footsteps trail through the sanctuary, the white light of someone else's flashlight catching his attention through the intricate latticing of the booth's walls. He sits unmoving, appearing as though he's still enveloped in prayer, but watches his company walk up to the altar and step upon it. In the darkness, the figure sets their light down to fiddle with something. A harrowing moment passes, and then the golden glow of a flame sparks, being passed onto the wicks of four altar candles. The nave is bathed in a flickering, amber hue, and the figure makes its way toward the confessional.

They sit on the bench across from Minho, separated from him by the silhouette window that casts shadows on his face in the shape of diamonds. It disguises him just enough to paint the illusion that he is a stranger, but Minho would recognize the coy smile on his plump lips anywhere. Minho himself grins against the skin of his hands, then closes his eyes. His heart begins to pound in his chest.

"Bless me, father, for I have sinned," Minho purrs once the curtain has been closed. "It has been four years since my last confession."

When he opens his eyes again and looks through the window, he locks eyes as best as he can with the man across from him and cannot help the sly simper that spreads across his mouth. Minho licks his lips, takes in the sight of his serious facial expression in contrast with how red his neck is getting, flushing from his clerical collar up to his jaw. Minho tries his best not to giggle in amusement. He continues.

"I confess that I have been having... impure thoughts, father. About someone. He's a man I met in town, and I haven't been able to take my mind off of him. When I'm not with him, I want to be with him so badly, father. By his side. On top of him. Beneath him."

"What is it about this man that plagues your pretty little head, my child?"

The sound of his deep voice sends a shiver down Minho's spine, and it takes quite a lot to keep himself from moaning softly from the stimulation of it. He shifts a little in his seat as he feels himself begin to harden between his legs. 

He lowers the tone of his voice when he speaks, dripping with depravity. "I dream of laying with him, father. Every single day. I dream of having him everywhere and anywhere that I can. It doesn’t matter where we are, or who is looking, father, I want him to take me. I want him to take me in any way that he wants, any way that he can think of.” 

When he briefly closes his eyes, he sees the hazy image of himself spread out on his back, his lover’s hands and lips and fluids all over his body. He sees himself getting shoved up and down a bed, a wall, the bench in a car. He squeezes his thick thighs together firmly to keep at bay his desire to be touched.

“I want his hands on me, father. On my body and around my neck. His fingers in my mouth," Minho finally does let the smallest of moans slip, closing his eyes as lust fills his stomach and his semi quickly moves toward completion. "I want him inside of me. I want his cock as deep inside of me as I can take, and then more. I want him to use me as a vessel for his pleasure, father, and make a mess of me with his sweet, warm cum. To tell me that I’m nothing. I want him to make me forget all the names that aren't his."

The man across from him shifts as well, jaw tensing as Minho's words float through the space between them. Minho sees his Adam's apple bob before he speaks up. "You speak as though you haven't laid with him before."

Minho smirks softly, tipping his head. "Oh, I have. I've let him _fuck_ me, father. I let him fuck me just last night. He made me his own just like he does every night. He fucked me until I couldn't breathe and I still wanted more."

A tsk. "You seem quite proud for a sinner," he says with a shake of the head. "I've dealt with whores like you before, but none quite so shameless."

Minho sinks his teeth into his lower lip, eyelids growing heavy with desire. "I'm sorry for my sins with all my heart, father."

"Would you like to repent for your sins, angel?"

"I would, father."

"What are you willing to do to be forgiven?"

"Anything."

The man leans back on his bench, licking his own lips and drawing Minho's eyes to them, how lush and pink they are. He craves. "Come to me."

Minho is up in an instant, hanging his rosary around his neck and pushing his curtain back to slip out of the confessional and approach the other side. He pulls the velvet aside and looks down at the sitting man, grins spreading across both of their faces although Chan still manages to look so serious. Devilish, really.

When Minho drops to his knees before Chan in the confessional, the air around them seems to transpose, charged with something weighted and unspeakably lewd. Minho's mouth waters as Chan unbuckles his belt, their eye contact never faltering even as Chan pulls himself from his pants. Minho rests his hands on Chan's thighs and squeezes. He is so starving.

"You've been so horribly sinful, my little lamb," Chan murmurs as though it's a secret. He grips the base of his cock with one hand and runs the fingers of his other through Minho's dark hair, gripping lightly. "Do you think you deserve forgiveness?"

Minho shakes his head, a sharp noise leaving him when Chan's grip in his hair tightens, pulling his head back so that his chin tips upward. Minho keeps his gaze on him anyhow. "No, father. I don't think I do."

"And why is that?"

Minho's catlike smirk returns, flashing his teeth. "I'm a filthy, nasty little whore, father. I just can't help myself."

With that, Minho replaces Chan's hand on his dick with his own and lowers his head, spitting on the head before smearing it around with the flat of his tongue. He looks up at Chan all the while, reveling in the slight sting of nails in his scalp although Chan has let up but only a little. "But I'll beg for your mercy if I have to, father. I'm very good at begging."

Minho stamps wet kisses along Chan's shaft until he reaches the tip of him, then sinks his head down slowly to take him fully into his mouth. He twists his wrist to work what won't fit, bobbing his head earnestly and hollowing his cheeks, dragging his tongue along the thick vein that runs along the underside. Chan lets his head rest back against the wooden wall, soft moans resounding in the small space. The shadows make his facial features and chiseled jaw look all the more beautiful, brows gently pinched and pretty eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks. Unfairly gorgeous. Minho thinks he might be god.

"It must please you," Chan speaks, voice gone raspy with pleasure. "Doing this in a church, of all places. Does your god see you on your knees for me right now? Sucking my cock like you can't get enough. Will you repent for greed, too, angel? Greedy little whore."

Minho takes him deep enough to make himself gag, sucking him off like he's never been bestowed a more important task. He moans around him, the vibrations making Chan gasp and groan louder, pulling at Minho's hair and seeming to grow restless in his seat. Minho pulls off to breathe and Chan holds his head in place so he can examine him, the glistening red of his lips and the way his watering eyes have smudged his makeup. The drool in the corner of his mouth and how his tongue flicks out to lick it up so hungrily.

"Do you like it, father?" Minho asks, still stroking Chan's cock, leisurely and wet.

Chan smirks, a dimple popping out with it. "Feels so good. I would expect as much from you."

Minho tries to go back in for more, but a sharp pull of his hair stops him, making him hiss between his teeth. Chan laughs so sadistically. " _More?_ Oh, angel." Chan lets go of his hair only to drag his hand down the side of his face, thumbing over his cheek, and then lower so he can press his palm to Minho's throat. Minho stares up at him, already starting to pant with how much he wants whatever he's about to get. Chan presses his fingers into Minho's neck. "Do you know what happens to whores like you? Do you know what your god does to little sluts that can't keep their mouths or their legs closed?"

Minho moans desperately, bringing his hand up to wrap around Chan's wrist. "Sh-show me."

Chan holds his throat for another moment before letting go. He tucks himself back into his pants and gets to his feet. Minho looks up at him with cloudy eyes, knelt at his feet like he's about to pray at the altar. "Get up."

Minho stands up, face to face with Chan now, just inches apart. Chan cups the back of his neck and brings Minho's mouth crashing against his own.

He gets Minho pressed up against the wall, kissing him fiercely as though he's been holding it in all night. Minho is just as desirous, gripping the front of Chan's top to keep their bodies pressed together. The booth is loud with the sound of their heavy breathing and whimpers, and soon enough, the sound of Chan's belt being pulled through the loops in his pants. The tinkle of the metal components knocking into each other excites Minho all the more. He asked for this specifically.

With the hold he has on the back of Minho's neck, Chan turns Minho toward the bench, standing behind him. "Bend over and pull your pants down." Minho fumbles to do what he's told, having trouble unbuttoning his jeans with his trembling fingers. "Quickly."

Minho gets his fly undone and pushes his jeans down, past his ass and down his thighs until they're at his knees. He holds himself up with his hands on the bench, bent over for Chan to admire. By the way that Chan is just staring, he knows he's delighted by his little surprise.

Chan caresses the curve of Minho's ass, groping a cheek before he brushes his fingers along the ornate, scarlet red lace adorning it. The color of lust. Sin.

" _Jesus._ You were hoping it would come to this, weren't you? You really are a nasty fucking slut." Chan presses his crotch up against Minho's ass, both of them groaning when the bulge in his underwear brushes just over Minho's covered hole. The next sensation that Minho feels is the rough drag of Chan's leather belt, teasing his sensitive skin. Minho squeaks. "Just what should I do with you, hm?"

"Punish me, father."

"How many strikes do you deserve, angel?"

Minho's mind goes blank. He'd let Chan strike him over and over until he branded him. "I-I don't know."

"You don't know? You were so sure of yourself, and now you don't know?"

Minho pants a little, pushing his ass back for more contact. "Please, _please._ "

Chan leans down to press his lips to Minho's ear, kissing his skin lightly. "What's your color, baby?"

"Green, it's g-green. Want it so bad."

Chan's voice is laced with venom this time. "How many fucking times, whore?"

Minho moans. "Fifteen, father. F-fifteen, please."

The first hit is always the lightest. It stings but only minutely, a surface level burn lessened by the lace barrier between the leather and his skin. Chan pulls his panties down after the third strike, determined to make him feel every ounce of his punishment. They grow in intensity as they go on, and Minho counts out each one with a shudder and a cry. By the tenth, Minho’s legs are shaking and his nails threaten to scratch the polished wood in front of him. He’s nearly delirious with want and the pain has got him reeling.

Minho was a hard child to train. Spankings and paddlings never did much to deter him from sinning and look where that’s gotten him.

“E-eleven,” he manages after another strike. He imagines his skin must be bright pink and red, bearing a big, oblong mark reminiscent of Chan’s belt. 

“You take your punishment so well, angel. You like this, too? Is this what you wanted?” Chan pulls the belt back and slaps Minho hard on the ass with it, making the younger man cry out and knock his head against the wall. 

“ _Yes_ , fucking p-punish me, father,” he wails, trying to remain upright. “Twelve.”

The next two blows are brutal; they make Minho grit his teeth and make his knees buckle. He's sniveling as Chan winds up for the final lash, hot tears running down his hot cheeks and he peers over his shoulder at him to offer one last perverted grin like this is the best thing that's ever happened to him. Like he wants to provoke Chan into doing his very worst.

"Give it to me," he breathes, hands balled into fists as he braces for impact. "I deserve it, father."

Minho squeezes his eyes closed as Chan lifts his arm, and when the leather collides with his skin he _yells_ , dropping his head between his shoulders and whining from the resonating burn, the way it feels like his flesh has been scorched. His legs and arms shake with the effort it takes to keep him standing. "F-f-fifteen."

Chan lets his belt fall to the ground with a clatter and runs his palms over Minho's bruised ass, making the younger gasp in sensitivity. He wraps an arm around Minho's torso to pull him upright and support him, pressing his lips to Minho's cheekbone when Minho rests his head back against Chan's shoulder. "Color?"

"It's green. N-Neon green." Minho brings a hand up to stroke Chan's jaw, turning his head to try to kiss him. "Thank you, father."

Chan merely lets their lips brush, but pulls away to pepper kisses along Minho's neck and shoulder. "I think you enjoyed that far too much, little lamb. How can you be absolved from your sins if you find so much pleasure in misbehaving? Hm? So fucking selfish. So selfish and _weak_ giving into temptation like that. And yet you beg for forgiveness as though you won't do it again." his hand trails to Minho's cock, so hard and weeping precum from the angry, red tip. He strokes him slowly, coaxing the softest, prettiest moan from Minho's throat.

"I just love eating from that god damned tree, father. There must be something wrong with me."

"You were right, angel. You _don't_ deserve forgiveness. Isn't that right? You can’t be forgiven for sins you’re not sorry for."

Minho's eyes close and his tongue rolls over his lower lip as Chan's other hand caresses his ass so delicately before one of his fingers drags over his hole, still wet and sloppy from the preparation he'd done before he'd come here tonight. It accepts two of Chan's fingers easily, and Minho arches his back into the feeling, leaning heavily against the wall in front of him. "I asked you a question."

"I _am_ sorry, father. I’m sorry for my sins, a-and all of the sins of my past life." Minho tries to roll his hips both forward and back, into the sensation of Chan jerking him off and of his fingers thrusting in and out of him, curling up and scissoring apart. When he introduces a third finger, Minho feels his eyes prickling with tears once again. He lets out a kittenish sound. “I want… w-want to be good for my god, I do.”

“Mm, do you?”

Minho nods frantically as Chan fucks his fingers faster, more harshly, inside of him. "I do, _fuck,_ I do! F-Forgive me, please, p-please fill me with your... your love and... a-and, oh _g-god_ —"

"That's right. Beg your god. Beg for his forgiveness." Chan guides the head of his cock to Minho's gaping, gluttonous hole once he's slipped his wet fingers out, and as he pushes past that ring of muscle, Minho squeals like a little pig. He starts to drive himself further in, and when Minho fails to follow the command he's been given, Chan drops a slap onto his battered ass, making Minho nearly double over because it _hurts_ and he _loves_ it. "You need to repent, baby. Why don't you say a prayer, huh? Pray to all of the saints watching you take my cock right now like the disgusting whore you are."

Chan pulls out halfway only to shove back in, jolting Minho forward and knocking the air right out of his lungs. He lies his head against the wall, gone weak in the legs but Chan's hands on his waist are keeping him right where he wants him. He can't find the words anywhere in his mind let alone in his voice, and instead gawks dumbly as Chan begins thrusting in and out of him. At the risk of Chan spanking him again, Minho gasps and tries to find his breath before he can even begin searching for his voice. Chan's palm collides with Minho's other cheek.

"Ah, _fuck!_ H-Hail Mary, full of... full of grace," he manages as he's jolted relentlessly against the wall, his fingertips trying to grip onto the smooth wood but finding no purchase. He lets a long, loud moan rip out of him before he finds the will to continue. "The L-Lord is with you. Blessed are... blessed are you among w-w-women, and blessed is, oh _shit_ ," he falters when Chan's mouth meets his neck and his perfect, pretty white teeth sink into his skin. He tries to rut his hips back to meet Chan's, but that makes Chan slow his movements down, and Minho starts panting in desperation.

"Go on, angel," Chan teases, his voice right in Minho's ear, all that he can hear. Minho's eyes sting with tears and he sniffles grossly, wanting so badly for Chan to just let him fall apart already. He's uttered so many Hail Mary's in his life that it should flow out of him like water at this point. But Chan's cock in his guts dams all thought that doesn't involve him.

"And blessed, _hah_ , is the fruit of your womb, J-Jesus," Minho's voice shakes, barely above a whisper as Chan grinds into him and presses open mouthed kisses all along his neck and shoulder. The older man draws his hips back so he can start goring Minho properly again, a reward for his obedience.

"Keep going." This might be the only prayer Chan knows, atheist that he is, and Minho curses himself for choosing this one out of the dark, muddy abyss his brain's turned into through all of this. He can't get away with a half-recital. He whines, propping one of his feet on the bench for leverage, the sole of his boot sliding a little as Chan drives his cock so deeply, over and over, that Minho can practically feel it in his stomach.

"Holy Mary, mother of god," Minho's face is screwed up with the pleasure and his chest is heaving. Chan bends him over a little more and hits his spot just right. "Pray for us suh-sinners _,_ fuck, _fuck!_ Now and... now and at the—the hour o-of our death! A-ah, _ah,_ fuck, Chan—"

Chan laughs in his ear, a breathy utterance that makes Minho shiver. "Amen."

"Amen, _amen_ , oh, god, oh my god," Minho babbles as Chan pounds into him, reveling in the aching clap of Chan's hips against his ass, in Chan's beautiful groans in his ear, in large hands holding him in place up against the wall, in the all-consuming pleasure and hedonism that comes with Chan making Minho his own. With his head above the clouds, wading through a storm, beginning to see white behind his eyelids, Minho thinks this must be heaven. "Chan, Channie, _ah_ , fuck me just like that, _g-god_ , fuck—"

"That's right, angel. Feels good, doesn't it? Is this how your god fucks you? Is this how you worship him?" One of Chan's hands slides its way to Minho's neck, easily settling in a hold that's almost second nature to them. Minho cries out, his own hand coming up to reset on top of Chan's, and when Chan curls two of his fingers around the chain of Minho's rosary and tugs, Minho gasps sharply.

"How hard does your god fuck you, baby? Does he know how to give this filthy little cock slut exactly what he fucking wants? Does he feel the heat of your greedy, wet, nasty little cunt on his cock, stretched to the limit? Does he?" The pistoning of Chan's hips and his vulgar, acidic words make Minho's ears ring and his eyes roll back. "Does he? How hard does he fuck you, Minho?"

Minho screams. He slaps his hand against the wall and cries out Chan's name, legs trembling out of his control and his body trying to curl into itself as his orgasm rips through him. He squeezes his eyes so tightly closed that the white behind his lids turns to television static, wailing as Chan takes hold of his cock and milks him for all he has. His cum hits the wooden wall of the booth in spurts that just keep coming as Chan keeps fucking him through it. He feels like he might black out.

"Look at you, making a mess in a fucking church. Y-You should," Chan's resolve is crumbling as he nears his own peak, working Minho into oversensitivity that has the younger sobbing in his arms, "should be ashamed of yourself."

"M'sorry, father," Minho slurs, going limp in Chan's hold as the older man pulls out of him. Minho sinks down until he's on his knees once more, turning to face Chan as best as he can in the small space. He takes hold of Chan's cock and strokes him quickly although the exhaustion he feels is making his arm burn. "Fucking b-baptise me. Come on."

Chan would laugh if he weren't so far gone. Minho lets his tongue hang out of his mouth in eager anticipation and Chan threads his fingers through Minho's hair, tightening his grip as he starts to cum, covering Minho's face in ribbons of heavenly white. Minho gazes up at him with one glistening eye, the other squinted to avoid getting blinded by semen. The unfiltered bliss on Chan's face makes a corner of his mouth quirk up in pride.

When Chan comes to from his orgasm, he looks down at Minho and watches him swallow what's accumulated in his mouth and stick his tongue out again like he wants more. Chan drags three of his fingers through the cum on Minho’s cheek and pushes them into his mouth, smirking down at him as he sucks them dry.

"Tell me, father," Minho rasps, lapping his tongue over Chan's fingers once more although they're clean. "Have I been forgiven?"

Chan brushes Minho's hair back and smiles fondly, putting on his serious 'priest' voice once more to recite the line. "I absolve you of your sins, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit." He makes the sign of the cross but he does it backwards, and Minho can't help but laugh, smiling brightly up at him. "Amen. Hallelujah."

Chan helps Minho to his feet, supporting him with careful hands, one on his waist and the other on the small of his back. Minho carefully pulls his underwear and pants up, wincing at the rough slide of the fabric over the abused flesh of his ass. He groans as he buttons his jeans and stands up straight, leaning back against the wall and letting Chan kiss him so softly on his swollen lips. Chan steps outside of the booth for a moment to grab the canvas bag he'd brought with him, grabbing the sachet of wet wipes and using one to clean Minho's face. He does it seriously, sincerely at first but then his goofy, annoying charm comes out when he tries to stick the wipe up Minho's nose, making him giggle and swat his hand away.

Minho hobbles over to a pew and lies down across it, staring up at the peaked ceiling while Chan cleans up the confessional and blows out the candles. His heart beats slowly in his chest and his eyelids droop. His limbs feel like jelly and he knows that he's going to be sitting funny for the next week or so, but damn if this wasn't the best night of his life.

He wasn't sure how Chan would react when he posed the idea of this scene to him; how does one react when their insatiable, obscenely perverted vessel of a boyfriend proposes that they want to get the absolute life fucked out of them in a confessional inside of his parents' church? It's a good thing that Chan's just as depraved as Minho is. Minho had let Chan corrupt him time and time again, once a coy little lamb with a demon's appetite waiting to be defiled. Now Minho feels like he's taken his turn in corrupting Chan, too.

When Chan finishes cleaning up, he retrieves Minho from his resting spot and helps him hop onto his back, carrying him out of the church and to the parking lot where their cars are sitting. He's going to go home with Chan and probably fuck him one more time before bed, so Chan sets him on his feet at the passenger side door and opens it for him. He grimaces as he gets into the seat, but beams up at his boyfriend as he leans down to give him a sweet kiss.

He'll return the church keys and his dad's clerical garb in the morning, freshly washed, and if his parents hear about Minho’s car abandoned in the parking lot at ungodly hours of the morning in the middle of the week, they can assume he had a late night desire to do some worship.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on my [nsfw twitter](https://twitter.com/lNNlEC0RE) for updates, drabbles, and sneak peeks~


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